


Babel

by nauticaas



Series: My Name is Sea [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Language Barrier, Languages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nauticaas/pseuds/nauticaas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Luffy's call in the common tongue was what had brought them together in the first place, after all. </em> (There is a great unifier across the four great oceans, but sometimes it is the differences that bring people together.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Babel

The Parlar was a system of communication that many would described as being flat, clean, and completely and utterly uninspired, and that made it the perfect common language.

Known colloquially as "the Bridge", it was the unifying language on the world trade markets and had also been accepted as the unofficial standard by the World Government. From the everyman to the highest bounties on the four Blues, the Parlar was easily the most recognized language, only surpassed by their own native dialects and tongues. Even so, it was most commonly used for work and business, as the world's many distinct countries and island-states held on stubbornly to their vernaculars.

Out on the sea, the Parlar was just another cog in the system (much like the infamous Parlay) that entire crews would rely solely on the language for years, their own distinct languages left dormant and silent. It was easier that way, especially on pirate ships; with people from so many different backgrounds under a single flag, finding common ground was crucial if one wanted to survive the unpredictable seas. As boring and toneless as it was, the Parlar was the main language that could be heard on a ship's deck, and _Thousand Sunny_ was no exception.

Early in the mornings, it was the first of many hushed whisperings within the Sunny's halls, as the watch traded shifts in the crow's nest and the beginning of the day's meal preparations rose from the galley. Later on it would build up in a crescendo as the breakfast racket arrived, and it continued on through the afternoon as the crew's younger members scrambled wildly across the lawn in a childish game made up right on the spot by their equally young and immature captain.

The navigator's occasional call and the shipwright's answering bellow punctuated the noise of the rambunctious crew, and of course there was always a quiet, collected conversation being carried out somewhere on the ship.

It bridged this pirate crew of nine as one, and they liked having the easy, comfortable communication of the Parlar between them. Luffy's call in the common tongue was what had brought them together in the first place, after all.

But sometimes…

 

Sometimes the musician brought up a song in his mother tongue, low and heavy with memories of a home he had long since abandoned, and his crewmates would listen intently in solemn, intrigued silence as the unfamiliar words sank into their bones. Even the captain, distractible and impatient and loud, never once uttered a word until long after the last note. The archaeologist found it reminded her a lot of her own desolate home and language, and it never left her with dry eyes.

The captain's language was all shushed consonants, but his bright, exuberant nature bled out into his voice and transformed his native tongue into a strong, songlike cadence. Even the softest, sweetest words were like explosions and fireworks in his mouth, and his crew couldn't help but smile at his outbursts when he reverted to the language from his childhood home. His language moments were the most frequent, in contrast to the swordsman's, who seldom spoke in his native language; when he did, his deep, strong voice carefully navigated the unique inflections of his tonal dialect. Most often, he shared it exclusively with the ship's doctor, a budding polyglot and a happy, engaged audience, who tried his best to follow what the swordsman said.

It was impossible to understand their crewmates whenever they retreated into their first language, and on the rare occasion it caused some difficulty on the ship, especially if the shipwright or the navigator slipped into their languages at the wrong time. During a particularly bad storm the two had ended up screaming into each other's face, unable to understand that they had lapsed back into their own languages in the heat of the moment. The disruption of communication had led to a tense, dangerous situation that could have turned deadly if the captain had not stepped in with a dark look in his eyes. His short, gruff bark mirrored their own lashing comments, but his Parlar rang clear in the wailing winds, and it was as though calm was restored in the middle of the tempest. Sheepish, the pair worked together to haul the ship to safety, and the rest of the crew breathed a sigh of relief.

Later, in the cozy warmth of the galley, the navigator and the shipwright shared a drink in the corner and compared their bold, coarse dialects amidst laughter, all conflict resolved and put behind them.

Despite the constant misunderstandings, though it would have been easier to stick exclusively to the common Parlar (and if the captain had chosen to do so he could have made it official), the truth was that they enjoyed their different languages. It was most obvious when the cook slipped into his native tongue, a lilting, flowing language that he used often when fawning after the women in their crew. They might sigh and shake their heads, but there was no denying that though they couldn't understand him, they could see that he really, truly loved them; it resonated in every word he said. It was why they never really asked him to stop.

Their sniper's mother tongue was as smooth and flowing as the cook's, and though he never fawned over the women nor shouted his beautiful, songlike words to the heavens like the captain, his language might have been their favorite. It was only within his language that he was at his bravest, and within his own words that he was at his most honest. They were rich, strong sounds that left his mouth in the heat of battle, in defense of his crew, for the love of his friends. And though they could not understand his words, they understood his meaning, and they understood that he never lied in his mother tongue. It was a refreshing, beautiful knowledge.

The "Bridge" was a good, straightfoward unifier in a world divided by such vast oceans and barriers, but sometimes…

Sometimes, for all that the Parlar was useful and undeniably important to all of them, it was their first languages that they loved the best.


End file.
